


Fly to Heaven

by Alyas_Alias



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Asian-American Character, Gen, Original Character(s)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-10
Updated: 2018-06-10
Packaged: 2019-05-20 11:08:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 870
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14893478
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alyas_Alias/pseuds/Alyas_Alias
Summary: Her mission is the Asset's life. Will she take his life or will she take back her own?Ratings, pairings, title, etc. subject to change as the story progresses.





	Fly to Heaven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The mission is assigned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Interrupting italics are meant to be someone's thoughts. Most of the confusion is deliberate and should be cleared up as the story progresses.

In an alley. Brooklyn, New York. 1932.

 

            Powder pink glints in the sunlight. Pink on the smoky blue of the sky. It is a square of shiny silk her father gave to her.

            -- _Who is 'her'? Me? Who gave the cloth to whom? Who does it belong to? Did--who **did** it belong to? Did I own things? That doesn't sound right. Did she? Why is it important? Is it going to be important?--_

            "Please give it back!"

            -- _Why is the cloth moving? Why is it so high up? Pretty pink against a smoky sky.--_

            "All I hear is _ching chong cho_ outta you, girly!"

            Gold. The gold-headed big-men that took things and broke things. They are called "ghost folk" and like ghosts they are not very friendly. It was these "ghost folk" that cut her great-grandfather's braid off, preventing him from going home to see his family. It is these "ghost folk" that come to their store and break things all the time.

            -- _How can they be ghosts? Ghosts don't pack as solid of a punch as these men do. Ghosts haunt places, not leave them haunted.--_

            "Hey, maybe if I stick this in ya you'll be more 'American'--"

            That's what it's always about--"American" or "America".

            -- _What did that word mean again?--_

            It's always about race. It's about their gold hair and her black hair. It's about the gems in their eyes and the coal in hers. It's about where their parents and her great-great grandparents came from. It's about how well they score on the literacy tests and who pays more taxes.

            "Hey! Lay off!"

            Gold clashes with gold. Milk-colored skin meets milk-colored skin--no. The fist that punches upwards into the big man's face is not white--it's pale. It's a sickly white and the shadows play on that fist, dancing into every crevasse created by the bones underneath--practically visible under skin that is almost as translucent as rice paper.

            Her would-be-savior goes down in an instant--punched with the fist wrapped in the pretty-pink cloth. Someone screams.

            The big men start kicking when the little guy goes down. He doesn't stay down. She watches, begging for the bigger men to stop.

            "I can do this all day."

            By some miracle, the little guy gets up again with his fists at the ready. He is barely taller than she is. The pink silk flutters to the ground as the big guy smirks and gears up to throw another punch. His buddies share the same smirk and for a moment she understands why these people are called "ghost folk" in her mother tongue. The white skin, the striking eyes, and those smiles that have "up to no good" written all over them.

            "Hey!"

           It happens too fast for the eye to see. A new voice cuts the tension in the air and the big guy is on the ground. The sound of fist meeting face echoes in the alley. A new challenger has appeared--a savior for her savior.

            "Go pick on someone your own size. Now get--"

            The new person kicks at the downed bully and he and his friends flee the scene. The savior walks over to the little guy and checks him over, dusting him off like her father used to do for her whenever she tripped as a child.

            "Sarah's a great cook. I don't understand why you insist on eating a knuckle sandwich every day."

            "I had them on the ropes."

            "Sure. How're you going to explain that to your mom, Steve?" The new guy points to a spot of blood on Steve's shirt. There is a small tear on the side of an otherwise good dress-shirt, dotted with blood. It must have happened when he fell to the ground. Various pieces of broken glass and tin cans are strewn about the alley. Any one of the things could have cut through flesh and cloth easily.

            "Uhh...aw man! This was one of dad's shirts." Steve looks defeated.

            -- _He had something from a father too. The shirt is made of cloth. It's just like the pink cloth. Is that why it is important?--_

            "C-Come with me!" Pretty pink is stained red as she presses her cherished cloth against the wound. She uses the other hand to push the two boys forward, heading in the direction she was heading to before the other guys ambushed her.

            -- _Keep pressure on it. The boy has to live. He is important. Has this happened already? Is this the past? Is it a memory? Am I a ghost? Who are these people? Why is the boy important? Why is the other one important? Who am I--_

            The other people in the community aren't going to be happy, but these two are proof that not all "ghost folk" are bad people.

 

           

HYDRA base. Undisclosed location. 2018.

 

            " _Schnitter!"_ A sharp, commanding voice snaps out a word. _"Where is the Reaper?_ " The voice continues in German as a man wearing a uniform storms through the base, his footsteps echoing off of concrete and metal.

            " _She sleeps. What need do you have of her?_ "

            " _Wake it up! We need it to kill something!_ "

            " _What's the target?"_

            " _The former Asset, Soldat."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Talk to me. Let me know what you think of the story, what direction you hope it will take, thoughts on how I crafted this etc.


End file.
